


Restraint

by howelleheir



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Come as Lube, Fuck Or Die, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, No Refractory Period, Older Man/Younger Man, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pon Farr, Pre-Series, Vulcan Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelleheir/pseuds/howelleheir
Summary: During Kirk's first assignment as Captain of the USS Lydia Sutherland, he is stranded on a hostile planet with the Vulcan ambassador, who begins to suffer a mysterious affliction.





	

This was not how Kirk imagined the end of his career. And it was the end, regardless of how things played out from here. The first major assignment of his first command, and he had lost two security officers, and seemed poised to lose a Vulcan ambassador. If he ever made it off the planet, he was headed straight for a court martial. What seemed more likely was that he'd die on the planet with Ambassador Sarek.

A transporter malfunction had beamed them far from the prearranged coordinates, into the heart of a violent storm. Lieutenant Parker had died almost instantly, picked up by a gust of wind and slammed headfirst into the rocks, and whatever phenomenon had caused the transporter error also seemed to interfere with communications. They sought shelter in the mountains, where Lieutenant Staub had slipped and lost his footing at the slick edge of a precipice.

After a full day of searching, they finally found a dry cave to hole up in until the storm blew over, but three days later, it seemed no closer to passing. Still no communications, no way to alert the ship of their location, and they had no food supplies. The inhospitable environment afforded them nothing to hunt, no edible plants. Even Sarek seemed to be losing patience, wringing his hands and pacing back and forth around the rocks Kirk had heated with a hand phaser for light and warmth. On the third night, Kirk woke to hear him muttering under his breath, “No...Not yet...It's too soon…”

Over the next several days, it became obvious that Sarek was ill, in spite of his diligent attempts to mask the symptoms. Even as warm as the cave was in the glow of heated stone, he shivered constantly, and his eyes had taken on a glassy, far-off look.

Kirk thought it better not to say anything -- from what little he knew of Vulcans, they valued privacy above all else -- but on the sixth day, Sarek shook him from his sleep, his face contorted in pain.

“Captain, I must speak with you,” he said in a low, quavering voice. Kirk sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Sarek continued. “I had hoped that communications would be restored and I might return to Vulcan before...Before it was too late. That is no longer a possibility.”

“Sir?” Kirk asked, brows knitted. “You know what's wrong with you?”

“Yes,” Sarek said between gritted teeth. “And I will not answer any questions about my condition. I will only warn you that, in the coming days, my judgment will grow severely impaired. I will be volatile, and I may be a danger to you. If you have any method of restraining me, you should do so. I estimate I have at most another three days before I succumb.”

Kirk scoffed, resting a hand on Sarek's arm. “There has to be something I can do.”

Sarek opened his mouth and took a stuttering breath, as if to speak, but his eyes hardened, and he turned away from Kirk with a sharp exhale through his nose before saying, “No. Nothing I could ask of you.”

* * *

Try as he might, that's all Kirk could get out of the Ambassador on the matter. He was suffering some fatal condition, and Kirk _could_ help him, but he wouldn't say how. Not an acceptable answer. Kirk would find a way to get both of them out of this. The first order of business was to find out what was killing the Ambassador and how to treat it. Then, they could worry about getting to safety.

When Sarek finally fell into a fitful sleep later that evening, Kirk crept over with a tricorder. It gave him very little useful information; it registered Sarek as a Vulcan male, approximately 95 years old, suffering from severe hypertension, elevated respiratory rate, and tachycardia. The readout gave a list of potential field treatments, none of which seemed to warrant Sarek’s reluctance, and unfortunately, none of which were accessible in their current position.

Just as Kirk was switching off the tricorder, Sarek stirred.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, gripping Kirk’s wrist. His skin was feverish, and his grasp bruising.

“Sorry, I just thought--”

“What?” Sarek roared. “That you would pry into my personal affairs?!”

In spite of Sarek's condition, his strength was in no way diminished. As he scrambled to his feet, he easily pulled Kirk after him, lifting him single-handed by the collar, firmly enough that Kirk's feet left the ground before Sarek pinned him against the stone of the cave's wall. Kirk was winded by the blow, but he managed to land a punch just under Sarek's jaw, and another between his ribs. In the brief moment it took Sarek to recover, Kirk managed to duck out of his grip. He found his phaser just as Sarek came after him. No time to hesitate, so he prayed that it was set to _stun_ and fired.

* * *

In the pack he'd recovered from Parker's body, there was a pair of handcuffs. Kirk didn't know if they'd hold up against the Ambassador's strength, especially given his current state of aggression, but they were certainly better than nothing. He snapped them into place around Sarek's wrists.

Only seconds later, much sooner than he should have, Sarek began to regain consciousness.

“Captain,” he slurred, voice weak, as he looked blearily down at his cuffed hands. “I attacked you?”

“Yeah,” said Kirk, settling cross-legged nearby. He kept the phaser close, but out of sight.

“I apologise. I have no memory of it. Are you injured?”

“No, no harm done.”

“I am...relieved,” Sarek said, and then lapsed into silence, and only the distant howl of the storm and the sound of his labored breathing echoed through the cave.

Assuming he’d fallen asleep again, Kirk settled back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. The cooling rocks gave off only the faintest glow now, and a curious, steady _plink._ Kirk let his mind wander, but it kept coming back to Sarek, alone, far from his planet and his family, lying on the ground in handcuffs. In pain. Dying. It didn’t sit right with him, not at all. And after all, he didn’t seem to have much fight left in him anymore. It wouldn’t hurt anything to at least take the cuffs off of him.

It was almost pitch-black now, so Kirk felt his way over to the Ambassador’s side on his hands and knees. When he reached him, Sarek was sitting upright, eyes glinting in the last remnants of light, mouth open and heaving ragged breaths. He held out his hands, never breaking eye-contact, and Kirk reached forward to uncuff him. There was a nagging sense of unease at the back of his mind, but he seemed to be on autopilot as he tossed the cuffs away and then sat perfectly still while Sarek’s hands reached for his belt, pulling the phaser out of its holster and sliding it after the cuffs, away into the shadows.

He realised, slowly, that Sarek must have been somehow controlling him, but he didn’t have the strength to fight against it -- the Ambassador’s pull was too mesmerizing, filling his mind with a warm, pleasant fog.

Kirk raised his hand, and Sarek reached for it. The second their fingers brushed, they gasped in tandem. Flashes of _something_ cut in and out of Kirks mind, like a corrupted transmission -- dizziness, overwhelming heat, as if his very veins were on fire, and an all-consuming need. The contact seemed to sooth it somewhat, but it was like a few meager drops of water in the mouth of a man dying of thirst.

Suddenly, Kirk understood why Sarek had been so secretive. It didn't take any knowledge of Vulcan culture to know that a man like him -- independent, reserved, proud, disciplined -- would be hesitant to admit any small failure of self-control, let alone the effects of this illness, which seemed to be pushing him to his breaking point. As Sarek’s hands trailed over his palm, and down his wrist, then moved to ghost over his cheeks, eyelids, jaw, and neck, Kirk felt his state of mind more deeply. A gnawing ache of barely-restrained frustration, a bone-deep yearning, a rending agony that demanded relief. Just that second-hand glimpse of it took Kirk’s breath away. How long had the Ambassador been in the throes of it? Almost a week?

It was only at that moment that Kirk realized he could move freely again; whatever spell Sarek had over him had faded. He felt like he should pull away, should be angry that another being had taken control of his mind, but instead, he took Sarek’s face in his hands, shushed him, leaned into his trembling touch. If all he wanted in possibly the final moments of his life was this one small act of human comfort, it would’ve felt monstrous to deny him.

“It’s alright…” he said softly, bringing Sarek’s hand to his mouth laying gentle kisses across his knuckles. “Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” Sarek half-sobbed, fists balling in the fabric of Kirk’s shirt, through his hair. Sarek's weight against Kirk's chest overbalanced him, and he fell to his back as Sarek's mouth closed over his throat. Kirk fumbled with the closures of his robes -- as soon as he opened the two outermost layers of heavy, thick-woven fabric, he could feel the immense heat of Sarek's body through the lighter silk-like layer underneath, and the waves of involuntary contractions rippling through every muscle.

As Kirk carefully stripped him down, Sarek made hastier work of the captain's clothes, tearing them from him and pressing against him needily. Without any barrier between them, Sarek's skin was shockingly hot. Kirk ran his fingers lightly down his ribs, trying to cool him, even a little, but the touch only seemed to spur on his desperation. He caught Kirk by the hair, pulling back on it to devour more of his throat, rough and crushing, as his thighs wrenched Kirk's apart and his free hand spanned the small of his back.

“Hey, hang on a minute!” Kirk exclaimed as Sarek's cock pressed into him. Even as slick with precome as it was, there was no way Kirk could take it. Not like that, not with how thick he was, and certainly not straight away with no preparation. He gripped tight around the base, trying to calm the Ambassador down just enough to buy himself some time to improvise more adequate lubrication, but Sarek shifted his weight and thrust into his grip.

Kirk felt the change in Sarek's breathing first, a deepening of the inhale and a tremor shaking through the exhale, then the rhythmic tensing in his low belly. Meeting his mouth, Kirk swallowed Sarek's long, pained groan and cupped a palm over the head of his cock to catch the hot, stuttering burst of fluid.

 _“Sa- sanu,"_  Sarek gasped as Kirk gently stroked slick fingers over his length, _“tu i’bolau nash-veh.”_

Though Kirk didn't understand the words, the tone was somewhere between a command and a plea, and it didn't sound like he wanted him to stop. Sarek's arms coiled under his shoulders and lifted him easily into his lap. Kirk's thighs burned trying to resist Sarek's insistent push downward, but he managed to control the pace. He suspected that, if Sarek were even the slightest more impatient or less controlled, he wouldn't have had the faintest hope of holding out resistance. Good thing Kirk _did_ hold out; he needed every second he could get.

He let his head fall onto the Ambassador's shoulder with a quiet moan as he felt the sting and ache of being stretched too far, too fast. In spite of the discomfort, he forced himself to relax, let gravity do the work. Even once he was fully seated, he had to brace his legs tight around Sarek's waist to hold him still, a feat he managed with no small amount of effort as Sarek returned the pressure with splayed hands over the flesh of his hips.

Sarek's patience didn't last. _“Hiyet,”_ he hissed, fingernails digging deep into Kirk's skin. “ _T’nash-veh nam-tor tu. Fa-wak tor tu ra karthau.”_

“Okay, okay!” Kirk said hastily as Sarek's hands found his throat. He went slack in Sarek's grip, kissing lightly along his jaw.

In the absence of resistance, Sarek lifted him easily, withdrawing almost completely and leaving him feeling hollowed out before driving him down again. It was brutal, too much, but arching forward, Kirk found a better angle and just enough friction against Sarek's belly to take the edge off the rough handling. Suddenly, the pain faded, leaving behind a blooming ache of pleasure as Sarek's cock opened him over and over, and shaking hands clutched at his arms, his waist, his hair, scrambling to touch as much of him as they could reach.

Kirk caught Sarek's fingers in his mouth, sliding his lips down their length before hollowing his cheeks, sucking, rolling his tongue over their tips. The sound it pulled from Sarek's throat was positively lewd -- a long, broken cry as his hips snapped up hard in quick, shallow thrusts. He pulled his fingers from Kirk's mouth and gripped his jaw, drawing him into a toothy, open-mouthed kiss.

 _“Ah-”_ he groaned into Kirk's shoulder. _“Ka’i! Ah…"_

Sarek threw his weight into Kirk, landing on top of him and bracing him by the thighs against a few more merciless thrusts, each accompanied by a throaty growl and the searing pulse of his climax. Just after, Kirk's own orgasm crashed over him, intense and suffocating. He rode it out while Sarek lazily rolled his hips against him and laid a trail of kisses across his chest, his breath slowing and deepening.

When he finally pulled away, Sarek started to shiver. “Cold,” he murmured, voice ragged.

“Here,” said Kirk, groping around on the ground until he found his phaser. He caught his breath, listening to the phaser’s low _hum_ as he heated the rocks again, filling the cave with a steady glow. Sarek pulled his robes back over his shoulders and settled cross-legged nearby. The pallor had gone out of his face, though his eyes were still somewhat glazed.

“Are you...unharmed, Captain?” he asked.

Kirk nodded. “As far as I can tell,” he said, though as he looked down at his body, he could see several fresh, angry bruises blooming. “I'm more worried about you. Your condition--”

“Is resolved.”

Blinking, Kirk asked, “Resolved? By…? Oh.”

“Kirk,” Sarek said, rubbing his hands together pensively. “I regret my actions toward you. Such behavior is...unacceptable. However, I am grateful to you for allowing it. If you had not, I may not have survived the night.”

Just as Kirk was about to reply, his communicator issued a chirp.

“ _Lydia Sutherland_ to Captain Kirk. Respond, please.”

Finding the communicator near his discarded belt, Kirk flipped it open. “Gary, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. What the hell happened with the transporter?”

“That storm down there,” said Mitchell. “Interfered with the lock. It only just cleared up enough for communications, but it's too risky to try and transport you. We're gonna send a shuttle.”

Kirk blinked. “And just how are you going to manage that?” he asked. The _Lydia Sutherland_ had just launched. Their next heading was to pick up their shuttles from the Starbase where they were being constructed.

“Stroke of good luck,” Mitchell replied. “A Vulcan transport ship arrived about two hours ago, it was the damndest thing. They're sending a shuttle down to your coordinates now. ETA in fifteen.”

Kirk shot a puzzled look in Sarek's direction. “Alright, thanks, Gary. Kirk out.” Then, to Sarek. “I'd better get some clothes on before that shuttle gets here.”

* * *

Luckily, what remained of Kirk's clothing covered all of the bruises that were obviously hand-shaped, and the rough nature of their unplanned expedition explained the ones that remained, as well as his torn shirt.

Unfortunately, the pilot of the shuttle was the Ambassador's wife.

Kirk could barely meet her eyes as she welcomed them aboard and looked him up and down with wide eyes and a hint of a suppressed smirk. Even Sarek's cheeks turned a deeper olive under her gaze as he said, “Captain, she who is my wife…”

“Ma’am,” Kirk nodded, mortified.

“Amanda,” she corrected, taking his hand warmly. “Captain, did you know that Vulcans share a telepathic connection with their partners?”

 _Oh, shit._ Kirk had run afoul of plenty of spouses in his lifetime, but none quite so strangely intimidating as the woman before him.

“They do,” she continued as she prepared the shuttle for take-off. “It's how I knew to call in a favor and get that ship here.”

“I'm so--”

“Thank you.”

Kirk stopped mid-apology, certain he had misheard her. “Pardon?”

“You saved my husband's life, Captain,” she said, and then her smile grew devious. “And it wasn't all that unpleasant to listen in on.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Vulcan phrases derived from The Vulcan Language Dictionary. All linguistic fuckery my own.  
> "Sanu, tu i'bolau nash-veh" = "Please, I need you now" (intimate "you")  
> "Hiyet" = "Enough"  
> "T'nash-veh nam-tor tu" = "You're mine"  
> "Fa-wak tor tu ra karthau" = "You will do as I command"  
> "Ah" = "Yes"  
> "Ka'i" = "I'm coming"; literally, "here now"; this is probably the most iffy construction, but it felt right *shrug*
> 
> Follow mostlyhydratrash on tumblr for more granddaddy-issues and linguistic fuckery. Comments make me hard.


End file.
